


Though that I said, I said I'd be alright (I lied)

by yorkisms



Series: Lifeline Week '17 [1]
Category: Lifeline (Video Game 2015)
Genre: (yeah this is jst..), Blood, Flashbacks, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Service Dogs, Vomiting, canon minor character death, discussion of suicide, identity crisis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 09:00:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yorkisms/pseuds/yorkisms
Summary: Your name is V. Adams.If only the rest of your life was made of such simple facts, devoid of struggle, lacking in the sort of things that leave you in the snow shaking and panicking.Your life is not that easy, is it, Adams.





	Though that I said, I said I'd be alright (I lied)

**Author's Note:**

> Lifeline week day 1: favorite character! I wanted to do a character study of Adams and it turned into me pushing my interpretation of Adams' mental state after whiteout. 
> 
> Oopsie doopsie.
> 
> _Mom, there are hurdles here_   
>  _That I cannot seem to clear_   
>  _Dad, there are demons around_   
>  _And though I said that I_   
>  _Said I’d be all right, I lied_   
>  _I lied._

The hardest question anyone can ask is who are you. 

Who are you? You’re not sure who you are. 

You went on three days’ journey to find out, and you came up with more questions than answers in the end. 

_ Who are you. _

You can start by listing facts. You always can. Facts are easy. 

Your name is V. Adams (a name that is not entirely yours but is also the only one you could imagine). 

You have a dog named Blue (the only thing in the universe that keeps you stable, keeps you sane). 

You are a robot (still hard to swallow, really). 

You are the sole survivor (you shouldn’t be, and when these questions come to you you wish you had someone to help you answer). 

Facts get hard when they’re so tied up in your emotions. 

The truth is, you’re not sure what you are. Miracle or aberration, human or robot, keeping it together or breaking down. 

These days you think you’re just going to shatter like the ice on the lakes in the snow. 

The forest is white. The tree branches are heavy with snow, leaves are gone and you- you are lying in the snow once again. 

You don’t understand. Why can’t you get up? 

It’s not a physical pressure that stops you from standing. You know this. You can feel your heart racing.

Minutes earlier, you were dealing with a dead squirrel. You don’t eat so well these days. You miss having canned beef stew on hand. And your friend to make light of it.

But you were squatting in the snow using your hunting knife to try and make some sense of the body parts. 

Warm blood hit the snow. The sight of it left you reeling-

_ He lunges for you, arm outstretched, knife moving towards your chest. You’re frozen with fear. You hear your communicator hit the snow with a crunch, but it sounds a million miles away.   _

_ You’re going to die here. This doomsayer is going to kill you because you didn’t tear out your fucking teeth, and you will die, here, cold and alone.  _

_ You don’t want to die. You want to apologize to your friend. You’ve put a lot on them over the past few days. And it’s okay that they told you not to listen. You didn’t want to, anyway.  _

_ It feels like you’ve lived a thousand years and the knife hasn’t even reached your chest.  _

_ That’s when you see a gray blur push his side, hitting the knife out of its trajectory. And your left hand moves of its own accord, and you feel dissociated as you watch your hands twist his arm until the knife falls in the snow, and Blue is knocking him down and growling, and you  _ don’t want to die.

_ You push forwards, and he falls back with a surprised shout- the most sound he’s made this whole encounter.  _

_ Your hands keep moving against his face, and- after a while he stops struggling, but- whatever has control over you won’t stop coming- until you can hear your own ragged breaths and Blue’s concerned whines.  _

_ You come back down to earth.  _

_ The guy is dead. Definitely. You killed someone. You feel panic rise in your throat. You turn around and scramble for the communicator. _

_ There’s blood on your hands. There’s blood in the snow. Blood everywhere. Not yours.  _ **_His._ **

_ “I’m here,” you manage breathlessly into the receiver. “I’m okay…”  _

_ You trail off. Are you okay? You think you feel sick.  _

_ “Look, I know you’re curious, but I don’t wanna talk about it-”  _

_ Your stomach clenches. You have to bite back bile.  _

_ It’s not good if you throw up the beef stew. You can’t.  _

_ But you’re going to.  _

_ “Just-- give me a minute or two, I just need to think…”  _

_ Your hands are shaking. Almost too hard to hold down the talk button on your communicator.  _

_ “My hands won’t stop shaking,” you add, distantly, as if it’s a curiosity. _

_ Then you drop the communicator again, move yourself off the body. You can’t move too far before it happens. The blood is everywhere, all over the snow. _

_ You vomit.  _

You’re not sure if this is something that normal humans experience- memory so intense it feels like living again. Maybe it’s a side effect of your robot brain. You weren’t built to live long enough to notice.

You look up at the white sky. It was the same color when you were born. 

A few feet away, the body of a squirrel and your hunting knife are staining the snow red. Your breath shakes still. 

You still can’t get up. 

You’re terrified the longer you lay there. Anyone could be out here. Anyone could find you and take you back.

You are terrified of going back. You don’t know what will happen if you go back there. 

Maybe you will see your brothers. That’s not a good thing. You don’t want to see them under those circumstances.

Maybe he will be waiting for you. Maybe this time he will make sure you cannot run.

You don’t want that, either. You would rather die. You would rather do it yourself than have him do it for you. You want to go out on your terms if your life has to be so short and spent running. 

He could just take you apart. Torture you senseless. Flay your mind. Punishment. Make you an example. 

(Example to who? You’re not sure. Maybe the next series. If they exist. You don’t know. Not knowing is what’s tearing you apart.) 

Blue noses your face. You reach one hand up to scratch him behind the ears. 

“Good dog,” you whisper, voice raspy. He licks your cheek. 

“Good dog,” you repeat, voice still weak. The feeling of your hand scratching his neck is what grounds you. He sits there with you, continuing to lick and nose your face with care, as if he’s trying to help you build up the mental wherewithal to sit up.

Eventually, you sit up. The blood is starting to dry. 

“Thanks, Blue. Good boy.” 

He noses your hand. You feel more stable already. 

You push yourself up. You dust the snow off yourself. 

You can do this, Adams. You have one person out there who cares about you. You have to survive for them. You have to, because they’re the only person you  _ can _ live for. 

You pick up the knife. You pick up the dead squirrel and hand it to Blue, who begins to eat. There’s a few spurts of blood which hit the snow and spread, but you focus on his wagging tail. 

You’re doing this because he needs you. Because you need to make your friend proud of the human you’re becoming. 

You don’t ever want to lose sight of that. 

“Alright, Blue, let’s go home?” 

Blue swallows his meal and wags his tail happily at you. 

You start to walk back the way you came.

One step at a time, Adams. Life is hard to live, and you’re just getting started.

Take one breath. In, out, in. 

Your name is V. Adams. 

You are a robot. 

And you are stubbornly asserting your will to live- live through whatever these living nightmares that plague you mean. (You don’t know yet. You will have to find answers.)

This is what your friend taught you.

And it is  _ enough _ .


End file.
